


Primum non Nocere

by LadyMD



Series: Medicus [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Jonsa - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor Jon Snow, Doctor Sansa Stark, Doctors, Emergency room, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Hospital, Primum non nocere, Surgeons, Trauma Surgery, bioethics, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10311980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMD/pseuds/LadyMD
Summary: "First, do no harm."Sansa is the new neurosurgeon assigned to work in East Watch by the Sea Veterans Memorial Medical Center where Jon Snow has been working for five years as a Trauma Surgeon. Sansa doesn’t seem to fit in very well and is seen as indifferent and unfeeling, while Jon is well loved. A case brings them together and Jon starts to understand that they were all wrong about Sansa’s heart being colder than the Wall.





	

 

 

**_J_ ** **_on_ **

****

**_12:10am_ **

**_ER, East Watch by the Sea Veterans Memorial Medical Center_ **

****

It had been one of the busiest shifts he’s ever had. Being in a more secluded area, East Watch by the Sea didn’t get that many patients especially this era of peace. But this day was exceptionally _toxic_. A freak accident at Castle Black involving the winch the Watchers used gave and broke, sending five that were on it plummeting twenty feet down and over five more Watchers below, the wreck stretching to injure ten more.

It was chaos in the E.R., especially for an understaffed center and this all had to happen on my shift.

Stretchers upon stretchers were wheeled in, three I’ve already declared dead on arrival, while Val, the E.R. specialist was busy declaring four more to join my three while the others were lucky to have survived with only minor injuries.

All hands were on deck for the carnage, as blood, snow, and dirt painted the septic floors soon, as the familiar stench of all three mixed with that of death and dying filled the room as did the sounds of pain, panic, and order echoed against the white walls.

I had just finished setting the bones of a young Watcher, a teenager from his looks when the blaring horn of an ambulance nearing was heard, as it did for several trips back and forth already.  

I looked over and saw Val trying to revive another Watcher, her eyes glued to the monitor showing the trace, spiking with each pump, her intern made as he took turns with a nurse in doing compressions. Val’s expression grim and we both knew that the moment they stopped pumping, the spike in the trace would too.

I gave her a gesture that meant I would handle the new patient and she gave a nod of gratitude before she ordered the last-ditch effort of another epi to be given.

Pulling my stained gloves off, pumping an antiseptic on my hands quickly before I changed into new ones, I pulled my surgical mask down and waited by the double doors with the nurses at the ready.

Once the ambulance was parked and the EMTs were swift to open the backdoor of the ambulance, we were greeted with the sight of another Watcher, barely recognizable under all that blood and swelling that was starting on his face, one EMT bagging him, while two were pushing the stretcher down the ramp and into the ER.

I ordered Satin, one of the nurses to prepare the intubation kit and another to set up a double line while I rushed to examine the patient as we wheeled him to one of the gurneys, curtains hoisting at once to accommodate us as Grenn, I recognized as one of the EMTs endorsed quickly while I checked for pulse then breathing. Pulse was there but his breathing almost nonexistent without the bag. Satin came back with the ET kit and I slipped on a sterile glove quickly while Satin handed me the laryngoscope, two other nurses working to get in two lines and another was inserting a catheter while I intubated. Sweeping the tongue gently with the blade, I thanked the gods that I was able to view the trachea at once. I pushed the tube in and pulled the stylet off, putting on my steth immediately to check if I was in. Satin bagged, two rapid ones and pause then repeat as I checked each quadrant. I nodded once satisfied and helped them secure the tube while I continued my examination.

“We almost didn’t see him. Half buried under all the rubble. His head took the brunt of the hit. GCS not looking good, only responds to pain stimuli and his left seems weaker than his right but we’re not sure if it’s because of the physical injuries or if it’s more. Broken ribs on the left as well. He wasn’t breathing when we found him, pulse is erratic but it’s strong,” he explained.

“What’s his name?” I asked while I immediately took out my penlight and checked his pupils. They were anisocoric, not _good._

“Waymar Royce,” Grenn answered.

I nodded and began patting his shoulder. “Waymar, Waymar can you hear me?” _No response._ I pressed against his hand. “If you can hear me, Waymar, squeeze my hand. Can you do that? Squeeze my hand or open your eyes.” _Nothing._

I began to rub at his sternum and I let out a breath of relief to see his swollen eyes fluttering open, his hands moving towards his chest, noting his right was stronger than the left, while an audible sound of grunting left his lips.

“We need to page neuro,” I almost didn’t want to say, knowing we only had one on board and she had just left an hour ago after her own twenty-four shift. But we had no other choice. This looked like a _bleed_ and she’d have to operate. “He needs to get a CT and some X-rays while we wait.” Knowing it wasn’t wise to leave a neuro patient alone, I volunteered to come wheel him down to radio with them. “Let me know at once if you get Dr. Stark.”

Pyp, my other nurse frowned but nodded despite knowing that we should be grateful to have her onboard. Dr. Sansa Stark, worked as both neurologist and neurosurgeon and was overworked enough as it is because she was the only one for the whole western North. That and she was so skilled – genius, to be honest that I swear most of the patients here in our hospital were hers, some traveling from beyond the Neck to seek her out. Well, we did have my great-uncle Dr. Aemon Targaryen, as our neuropsychiatrist but he was already ten years from his retirement, only entertaining some calls but he clearly praised Dr. Stark when she came on board.

Dr. Stark had a great promising career working in Visenya Hill Medical.  Top of her class in Citadel University, the number one medical school in Westeros, was prided for having the finest hands for surgery that everyone thought she’d have a go at Plastics with her almost invisible stitching skills, and not to mention, the looks to make her aesthetic practice more than believable. Sansa Stark was painfully beautiful.  Everyone was shocked when she chose to brave it out amidst the male dominated field of neurosurgery, even cutting her hair close to a shave as all male neurosurgeons did during residency without a shred of complaint. She'd have shaved it all off if she had to as was the rite of passage for them but her mother fiercely objected and lobbied high and low for her daughter's rights to stay in the program. That caused her some problems from the traditionalists, but she proved them all wrong when she emerged to be on top again. And she's since, grown her hair past her shoulders once more. 

Still, especially in the conservative North, no matter how much she achieved, somehow, she was still not taken seriously by the senior staff – doctors and nurses alike. Despite the number of patients that sought her service, the referrals were always late and done only when there was no other choice, opting to call Dr. Aemon first who would hand them over to Sansa. This was very insulting but Sansa never complained. Just worked.

Worked and worked. She was all business and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her outside the hospital these three months that we’ve had her here. She usually stays in her apartment, her dog keeping her company. I knew because I had the unit across from hers. But the rare times I saw her smile it was with her patients. And they weren’t fake ones. They were always sincere and I knew that Sansa wasn’t the frigid Ice Queen that people make her out to be.

I wish I did more to help her out. Sure, I would chastise the staff when they talked behind her back enough that they never spoke against her when I was there.

Pyp in particular grumbled though one time. “You don’t have to defend her just because she’s your cousin, Jon. She’s a snobby princess who thinks she’s better than us.”

The glare I gave him then made sure no one _ever_ questioned why I looked out for her. All except _her._

As we made our way towards Radiology, I remembered a sort of conversation we had when she was only two weeks into her stay here.

* * *

 

We were in the scrub room, washing our hands and arms after a joint surgery when she suddenly spoke to me.

“You don’t have to you know,” she whispered coolly suddenly while she ran her arm under the spout, not looking at me.

I was drying my arms and hands when she spoke, I almost dropped the sheet. “Have to what?”

She took a moment before continuing, grabbing a disposable drying sheet of her own. “Look out for me. I can take care of myself.”

_Oh._

I crumpled the sheet and threw it on the disposal. “I know you can.”

The tension in her shoulders that I didn’t see before suddenly gave – at least slightly as she nodded. “Thanks. I know you mean well, but you don’t have to.”

I almost sighed but decided to grab another sheet and hand it to her. “I know I don’t have to.”

She looked at me then and I almost faltered under her the intensity of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen – eyes that were filled with pride, anger, confusion, and deep sadness.

I managed to pull a corner of my mouth up as I offered her the sheet but she didn’t even blink as she continued to study me, eyes never leaving my own.

She blinked then after a few seconds and I saw the tiniest pucker between her eyes as she took the sheet and nodded gratefully before turning away again, eyes concentrating on her task as silence enveloped us again.

I wanted to say something but I couldn’t find the right words. I didn’t even have to stay but I couldn’t…leave her.

“We saved a life today,” she said looking up at me suddenly and giving a small smile that left as quick as it came that I was struck for a moment before I hastily answered, my heart pounding erratically for some reason. It occurred to me that in the couple of weeks that she’s been here, we haven’t had a proper conversation.

“Yes. Yes, we did. Well, mostly _you_ did. I was practically useless there,” I attempted to smile at her, my hand automatically reaching behind me to rub at the back of my neck.

Her nose wrinkled and I swear a hint of a blush swept on her face that left as fast as her smile did seconds ago. She tilted her head and studied me with her eyes again, her face unreadable. Gods what I would give to be able to see and hear what goes on in that mysterious brain of hers.

After blinking – her lashes were so long and curled elegantly at the ends – I noticed as they swept low on her cheeks for the briefest moment, she shook her head slowly just once before speaking again. “You were far from useless.”

I tried again. “That’s high praise then, coming from you,” but that proved to be the wrong thing to say as her face fell a little before smoothening into her neutral mask she’s worn since she came here.

“I – “I started but what more could I say?

She shook her head and gave a polite smile “It’s really not,” she said so softly before she walked towards the bench, propping a foot on it and leaning down to unroll the bottom of her scrubs one by one then standing straight, reaching behind her to untie her cap, her long shiny red hair tumbling down her back like crimson waves against her dark green scrubs that I lost all coherent thought completely. I could do nothing else but stare at her, completely fascinated.

As if noticing an audience, she craned her neck at me and the tiny puckering movement of her brows came and gone again as she looked at me.

I blinked, coughed and turned away from her gaze and I swear I almost heard the softest laugh but when I looked back at her, she was already halfway out the door.

She paused. “Jon?”

“Y-yeah?” I answered weakly, my name sounding nice on her lips. We were cousins in name and blood but we were strangers and this was the first time she called me by my name.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me. I’m not made of glass. And again, you don’t have to look after me.” she said without looking at me. I was about to protest when she cut me off. “But…thanks,” and without waiting for my reply, she left.

* * *

 

We never spoke outside of work since that day but since then it’s now been my life mission to make her feel wanted and comfortable in the hospital that needed her more than she needed us – _it._

The backstabbing, the gossiping, the off-handed remarks were almost nonexistent, well, at least not to my hearing distance, but was now replaced with maximum tolerance which was worse in some way.

She saved so many lives, improved many others and never had a bad thing to say to anyone, much less, complain that the staff quickly ran out of things to say about her bur praise – which they barely gave.

Why was it so hard for them to accept her?

She was polite, and skilled, and always gentle with the patients and more so with the relatives. Then I understood that Northerners held pride and stubbornness. Never mind that she was by birth and by name, a Northerner.

Four months ago, the hospital was at the brink of being closed down if not for Northern Minister Ned Stark and my father, the Prime Minister. Long story short, Dr. Sansa Stark was the bargain.

What I’ve failed to mention before was that she was the youngest neurosurgeon in history, and she was one in only a handful of female neurosurgeons in the country. But everyone seems to keep bypassing her new position as deputy chief of surgery while the hospital was undergoing an overhaul in management, as something she _earned_ rightfully with her academic prowess and successful cases but rather one handed to her on a silver plate.

I could understand because I suffered the same when I was offered to be the chief over the more senior Dr. Allister Thorne. But the difference was I declined it, wanting to get my years before I feel worthy enough to accept it if they give it to me once more. There was a reason I wanted to work here after all. I was miles and miles away from my father’s shadow, I even changed my name to show how serious I was in earning everything on my own merits.

Though I saw the resistance in Sansa’s eyes when she was announced as the deputy chief, she didn’t say anything, just quietly accepted the job she was given, even if that meant uprooting her from her blossoming career in the South to work in a hospital that was barely holding on before the Starks saved it.

She could’ve left at any time. If she requested it, she could. She didn’t have to stay and endure this. But she’s still here.

I felt a hand move past my shoulder, surprising me almost off my chair. I craned my neck and saw the intense blue eyes that haunted me for weeks ever since that conversation at the scrub room.

There were shadows under her eyes and tinges of red in her sclerae and her hair was down and loose, betraying that she had likely woken up from her deserved rest. Looking away from her eyes, I noticed she had her hand half-withdrawn.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you Dr. Snow. I was just pointing out the bleeding, right there,” she reached out again and pointed at the very ominous crescent on the right lower hemisphere that flashed on the black and white screen. “It’s an epidural bleed and its started to herniate down. I need in there right now,” she explained quickly.

I nodded and was about to order when she beat me to it. “Prep me an OR, _stat,”_ she said firmly but with incredible amount of calmness. How she manages to be calm all the time, I’ll never know. “Please,” she added and I almost shouted that she didn’t have to say that. “Kindly have four bags of blood ready. Did you test his type yet? If not, do so, please,” she ordered _politely_ despite the seriousness of her eyes that were turning steely now as she quickly went to check on the patient, doing a neurological exam as fast as possible.

I followed her and endorsed the patient’s history, a summary of injuries, and my assessment. “Waymar Royce, 17, a steward. He was GCS 9, E2V2M5, pupils anisocoric, six and three, left, and his left is weaker than the right when I checked him. No lucid interval since. We were able to stabilize him but he’s not breathing on his own and I had them page you right away.”

She kept nodding at me as she went on with her examination. “Our exams match, but his left pupil dilated to eight now. We need to decompress immediately.”

“I started him on mannitol before we went to radio.”

She nodded at me. “That was the right thing to do but I have to push more, his blood pressure is spiking.” I checked the monitor and it was indeed spiking. I was about to start the infusion pump for the Nicardipine drip when she shook her head at me.

“No, just help me please with the Mannitol. We can’t drop it quickly,” she explained while she took out the 50ml syringes, loading it with Mannitol she produced from her bag. I began helping her extract Mannitol into the tubes as she started pushing one on the line that was on the crook of Waymar’s right arm. I handed her the next one, taking her empty syringe and refiling it.

The blood pressure was dropping gradually as was the spiking pulse. She gave one last push then checked on the pupils again while I checked on the breath sounds and the urine bag and others for signs of congestion. “Clear.”

“It’s down to five and three but we really need to take him up now,” she looked at me.

“We can’t wait, let’s wheel him up now and find an OR.”

She nodded. “You need to scrub in too.”

“Hm?” I answered when I went to the head of the gurney and started pushing while she maneuvered at the foot to pull.

“You need to see to his ribs. They could puncture his lungs,” she pointed at the x-ray. Gods, I almost forgot!

I nodded right away.

Pyp came back and helped us while telling us that OR 4 was ready.

It took close to eight hours as Waymar kept crashing. Being the night shift, we didn’t have full staff so I had to be Sansa’s assist and she had to be mine.

I was about to tell her that I’ll be fine on my own since she did work six of those eight hours while I assisted almost uselessly beside her. Neurosurgery was usually a one-man job with the assist touching as little as possible because one damaged brain tissue meant paralysis or dysfunction, unless you were also a neurosurgeon assisting too.

I felt bad that she had to do this because in her twenty-four hours she did four major surgeries, the shortest taking four hours and she still squeezed in some rounds. But there was no one else who could do this right now. Only her.

And I remembered I lobbied for her not to take E.R. shifts anymore for this very same reason. She was our only neurosurgeon and she had to have ample rest to not just be in tiptop shape but because damn it, she should be able to take much needed rest as much as she can for all her hard work and dedication. I suggested that she just be on call and if she wished to, take only a maximum of 12-hour shifts, but she insisted that we were already understaffed to begin with. Everyone on the surgery department had to have a twenty-four-hour shift at the E.R. at least every four or five days, why would she be different? We only had two orthopedic surgeons, one cardiothoracic surgeon but another that was on call from Karhold, and one for urology after all. She had to have hours too. I was fortunate to have three alternates in Tormund, Karsi, and Cley Cerwyn, the four of us making up the team of trauma surgeons.

So I tried once more to tell her to go lie down, even suggesting for her to sit on a stool or the floor with a promise to wake her if i needed her but she stubbornly shook her head and never left until the final stitch was done and to her credit, she never showed any sign that she was tired or frustrated and that motivated me to work as fast and as efficient as I ever did in my life. 

Then it was done and Waymar Royce was in significantly less danger and had a great chance of waking up sometime this day or tomorrow.

Everyone congratulated us, though they were still frosty with Sansa who just shrugged it off. But I couldn’t take it.

“You were exceptional as always, Dr. Stark,” I said loudly.

She looked up at me for a moment and I think her eyes softened for a second before she turned around and simply gave me a nod and a soft thanks.

“I _mean_ it,” I touched her shoulder. “You did great. He has a fighting chance to wake up from this because of you and everyone knows it.”

She blinked at me, lowered her mask and gave me a brief smile. “Thank you, Dr. Snow.” Then she made her way to the scrub area.

“Give it up, doc. She doesn’t care. And if you didn’t manage him first and page her, Waymar would be good as dead now,” Cottor Pyke, the OR nurse snorted.

I felt incensed. “I pray to the Old Gods every day that one day all of you will open your eyes and see how much we need her here.”

Daeron, the other O.R. nurse rolled his eyes. “We _know._ We all owe our pathetic jobs to Dr. Stark’s _generosity.”_

I pulled him by his scrubs all ready to hit him when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I turned and all my anger melted away when I was met with blue eyes once more.

She was frowning then and gave a slight shake of her head before speaking in her neutral voice again. “Dr. Snow, I need to ask your expert opinion on something. Will you come with me?”

I nodded at her while I shot Cottor and Daeron another glare before following Sansa to the scrub room.

When we got there, she didn’t say anything, just stepped on the switch for the faucet and started washing her hands and arms, methodical as ever and I realized she just said those things to me so I wouldn’t start a fight.

I sighed and washed my hands as well. But I couldn’t let it go no matter how much I tried. “You shouldn’t let them talk to you like that.”

She didn’t look up. “But they didn’t.” She dipped her arm under the spray. “They didn’t talk to me at all.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “You know what I mean.”

She sighed then and nudged the switch off with her foot while she pulled a drying sheet. “It doesn’t bother me.”

I threw the scrub I was using to remove some of the dried blood that caked on my upper arm. “Well it s _hould_.”

She looked at me then and her eyes flashed with something before turning cold and expressionless, her chin tilted up slightly as she spoke in that damned detached calm voice of hers. “What do you think I should do? Tell them off? Yell at them? Demand an apology? Grovel at them? Kiss ass? Explain how I didn’t ask for this? Any of this? Explain that this was a duty that was asked of me?”

I yanked my cap off and ran my hand over my hair. “I don’t know. But you have to say something – _anything._ Your indifference is doing nothing to help you.”

She looked taken aback then – the first chink of her armor. And finally, her face contorted into that of _anger_ as she tore off her cap, her red hair tumbling once more as her eyes blazed with emotion _._ “You think I’m _indifferent?_ That I don’t _care?_ That this doesn’t in the slightest _affect_ me?”

I stood there stunned to silence but she wasn’t done yet.

I saw her body tremble, her chest heaving as she drew angry breaths, her eyes blazing, her mouth curling, revealing pearly white teeth as her red hair whipped around her face in gentle waves, slightly mussed from being tucked the whole time, bouncing as she spoke, her tone low, calm but deadly.

She placed a hand on her heart and looked me straight. “I care.”

“I care,” she repeated more furious than the first time.

Then her face fell but her body still trembled and there it was.

“I care,” she whispered, her words catching and breaking and all I wanted was to hold her and make everything alright. "More than you think, I do care."

She was beautiful without even trying, but now she was downright glorious in her fury, and impossibly heartbreaking when she was vulnerable.

I made a step closer when she suddenly took a step back and shook her head, her eyes closing in defiance as she stood rigid.

“They told me that many people died not getting the treatment they needed in the North. They told me how much it took to cross the Neck just for thirty minutes of a simple consult that couldn’t be given here. And… they told me they were closing the hospital that saved my brother’s life. They didn’t need to give me any other position other than just being allowed to serve. I would’ve said yes without questions regardless. But if a duty was given to you and from people who are honorable and who you trust completely, you don’t question, you just _do_ it. If I leave just because I can’t endure some bad words, and scathing, judging looks, then I would be selfish, and most of all I would violate an oath,” she said slowly and carefully.

She looked up at me then and gave me a soft look.

 _“Primum non nocere,”_ she said before she left me alone completely.

I sucked in a breath and my heart was filled with incredible awe and respect for Sansa Stark and equally incredible shame for myself and the whole bloody staff off this bloody hospital.

_Primum non nocere._

It was part of our Hippocratic Oath, sworn by every doctor, though not in the oath itself, but it was implied as was taught to as part of the four main principles of bioethics every sworn doctor takes to heart.

_First, do no harm._

_“If it won’t help the patient, don’t do it.”_ I remember Dr. Tyrion Lannister explaining it as he lectured back in med school.

 _“Primum non nocere,”_ Sansa’s voice ghosted once more.

And that was when I knew I fell in love.

* * *

 

I found her on the roof deck, sitting cross-legged and half-hidden in a shaded corner, the dull winter sunlight showing it was near mid-morning. She was still wearing her scrubs and was puffing on a cigarette.

“Those things will kill you,” I started, holding back a chuckle. She didn’t look up, just shrugged and took another drag.

I sat down beside her not caring if I was invited or not. I held my hand out and she eyed me at last before soundlessly handing me her stick. I took a long drag and exhaled smoke both through my nose and my mouth, remembering like a green boy that my lips were touching what was only moments ago, was between hers.

“I mean it, these things will kill you,” I repeated while taking another drag like the stereotypical hypocrite doctor and his vices.

“Now more than ever, now that I’m inhaling second-hand smoke. And you’re one to talk when I see you sneaking one in almost every after two surgeries,” she pointed out.

I chuckled. “Didn’t think you’d notice that.”

She placed her face on her hands and leant forward a bit. “I notice everything,” she breathed.

My chest caught and I held back a sigh and kept my hands in my pockets lest I pull her to me and rock her against my chest while I scream at the world.

“This is only the second time I’ve seen you smoke. I don’t want you to start a habit. It’s really bad for you,” I decided to press.

I saw a corner of her lips twitch. “Didn’t think you’d notice that,” she echoed my words and I laughed then. “Maybe you haven’t been looking too much to catch my third and fourth time smoking.”

“No, believe me, when it comes to you, I _notice,”_ I said deciding to be brave and upfront for once because I knew she’d appreciate it.

Definitely a restrained smile there but she didn’t look at me still.

“Still, you should quit before you get hooked. We took vows, you know,” I pressed. "And I used to smoke after  _each_ surgery. I'm on my way to complete recovery soon."

A laugh escaped. It was brief and borderline sarcastic but it was lovely. “I’m not harming anyone. I smoke in open air.”

“Yes you are. You’re killing yourself,” I pressed some more. “And we need you alive, Dr. Stark.”

She started to sigh but I stubbed the stick and flicked it over the trash and started talking before she protested. “I don’t mean _us_ – the hospital though we _do_ need you. I meant your patients and patients-to-be.”

She looked at me then and quirked a brow. “You still said ‘us’ though. And I don’t recall you being my patient. Or did you hit your head recently.”

I laughed again. She was too smart for her own good. “Maybe I did.”

“Did what? Say ‘us’ or hit your head?” she smirked.

I looked her straight in the eye then. “Both,” I paused. “I think I hit my head when I started falling for you.”

That wiped the smirk off her face then as she regarded me, looking for any sign that I was joking but I have never been serious as I was now.

She was the first to look away, bringing her knees closer to her chest as she continued to look beyond the Wall. “Maybe you hit your head too hard. Because what you’re saying makes no sense.”

Silence again and then she spoke once more. “You don’t have to.”

“Have to what? Fall madly in love with you?” I challenged.

That brought a blush to her cheeks. “Whatever it is. You don’t have to be nice to me, or talk to me or –

I cut her off by kissing her and pulling away but keeping my forehead pressed to hers. “I don’t have to do that either.”

She didn’t pull away but she didn’t lean closer either and after a pause she spoke. “No, you don’t.”

“Primum non nocere,” I whispered before pulling away slightly.

She looked at me with confusion in her eyes.

“Am I violating anything here?” I asked.

She blushed some more and was seemingly debating in her mind before she finally relaxed and shook her head, her eyes she shutting close before leaning her head on my shoulder.

I grinned as I let her. My hands twitching to wrap my arms around her but I knew it wasn’t prudent at this time.

“You don’t need to protect me. I don’t need protecting,” she said after a while.

“You don’t,” I agreed.

“I can handle myself,” she continued.

I nodded. “You can.”

“No one can protect anyone, not really,” she whispered.

“I know. But there’s no harm if I try, right?” I asked.

She looked up at me then and after a few heart beats she finally graced me with a beatific smile. “No.” She looked away shyly. “Not if you really want too.”

I tilted her face to look at me then, stroking her cheeks until her eyes met mine. “I do. I really want to.”

“You don’t have to,” she said again but this time with significantly less convincing tone.

I chuckled. “I know.  But I really, really, want to.”

“Why?”

I gave her a playful smile. “Why? Because you don’t deserve their treatment? The damned hospital doesn’t deserve you, period? Because you are the most selfless doctor I’ve ever met and everyone should see that? Because it’s part of my new vow?”

She quirked her head. “Vow?”

I nodded. “I vow to hurt anyone who hurts you,” I said smugly.

She frowned at me and pinched my arm _hard._ “Ow!”

I looked at her and she arched her brow at me. “That’s not a very good vow.”

“Oh? How so?” I massaged my arm.

“Because no one can hurt me without my permission,” she said haughtily and I swear I fell in love with her more.

“That’s true, _your highness_ ,” I retorted, getting the reference right.

She laughed then and I was struck dumb at how beautiful it was.

She looked up at me with that adorable pucker in her brows again. “What?”

“You should smile more. I don’t want to relinquish my title of Dr. McBroody yet,” I winked.

She laughed again, trying to cover her mouth demurely as she did. “Fine,” she nodded. “Gods, forbid.”

I laughed with her then and after the high we found ourselves both smiling at each other.

I traced the shadows under her eyes and felt her lashes flutter against my fingers as she closed her eyes.

“You should really get some sleep. I know you’ve been up here since the surgery. Believe me I checked the quarters many times.”

“I’m sorry for getting mad at you at the scrub room,” she apologized, ignoring my statement.

I shook my head. “You needed that. Hells, we all need to apologize to you.”

She sighed then shook her head in turn. “I can’t help how other people feel for me. I can only just be myself and do my job.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well you’re right about one thing.”

She opened her eyes then and peered at me. “Hmmm?”

“You can’t help how other people feel for you,” I repeated her words. “Just as you can’t help me from having feelings for you.”

She blushed again before biting her lip and looking up at me from below her long lashes, the light in her eyes dancing. “Oh, I think I can help you with your feelings a little.” She said as she fiddled with the ties of my scrub top.

I couldn’t help but grin then. “How?”

“Will I… be violating anything if I kissed you right now?”

I groaned and cupped her face with my hands. “Sweetheart, you could never be more benevolent. Put me out of my misery Dr. Stark, and kiss me.”

“Well if it really helps you –

I cut her off by kissing her again.

People were definitely going to talk once they see us together but I’m not going to keep this – _us –_ a secret and I’m not going to let her endure further scrutiny _alone_ anymore. She’s right. I can’t protect her, not really, but damn it I’ll try.

First do no harm.

I’m sure the gods will forgive me if I pommel the next guy who slanders my Sansa. Because gods damn it, “harming” her was going to cause more harm for everyone. Not when she was only doing her job above all which was much I could say about everybody else.  And doing this would definitely be the _lesser_ evil.

_Primum non nocere._

There were three corollary principles with this vow.

One, where harm cannot be avoided, we are obligated to minimize the harm we do.

Two, don’t increase the risk of harm to others.

Lastly, it is wrong to waste resources that could be used for good.

And protecting Sansa and treating Dr. Stark with the admiration, love, and respect she deserved, and throttling all the little shits that mistreats her would be checking all the boxes of fulfilling my Hippocratic Oath.

She pulled away and smiled at me. "We saved a life together, today."

I grinned back. "We did." 

And just like that reality decided to burst our bubble when my pager beeped. 

I sighed as I read it. 

"Time for you to save more, Dr. Snow," she poked me. 

 I kissed her again, stood up and held out my hand to her. "Time for _us_ to save some more, Dr. Stark." 

She laughed as she accepted my hand as I helped her up, shaking her head. "Oh not for another twelve hours, Dr. Snow. Unlike you, I'm still technically off-duty."

I chuckled. "You truly are too smart for your own good."

"Come on, let's go. Do your job and  _maybe_ I'll have breakfast with you on your break."

I swung our hands that were still clasped together as we walked. "You don't have to." I teased her.

She smiled widely at that. "I know I don't."

"But I'll be happy if you do," I admitted. 

"There's no harm in making a doctor on duty happy, is there?" She beamed at me.

I had to stop and kiss her again. "Definitely no harm at all."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm supposed to be doing many other things, and writing many other stuff other than my unfinished stories but I was suddenly struck with an idea to finally do a story on Jon and Sansa being doctors when I said I'd never, being a slave to the hospital for years as a doctor myself and sick of (no pun intended) the hospital life haunting me day and night. But now that I had some time off hospital life due to a career upheaval, I've had time to miss it all the same. And this was one way of saying how much I miss it and game of thrones in general at the same time haha. That and I think a lot of writers here want to up the number of stories for the ship and I want to contribute in my small way. Sorry if you don't get some of the medical jargons I have here. Let me know if you want me to elaborate. This is a one shot and sorry if it's not that fluffy but yeah. I hope you like it all the same. :) 
> 
> Please let me know if this is something you'd want to read more about. It's a one-shot but I have some ideas for this world that could be expanded in the future. :)


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